


Where everything is Marshmallows and the Goat doesn’t matter

by isaDanCurtisproduction



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A Goat is involved, Bets & Wagers, Crossdressing, Don't threaten me with a good time, Gambling, Humor, Inappropriate use of song lyrics, M/M, Minor character goat, New York City, Panic At The Disco (Band), Peter and Wade are having a good time, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Spideypool-Implied, only mildly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 21:16:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8225029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaDanCurtisproduction/pseuds/isaDanCurtisproduction
Summary: Peter shrugged. "I lost a bet to a guy in a chiffon skirt." He looked down at the heels, posed to show them off better. Speculatively he said, "But I make these high heels work."
As if it's not difficult enough for Peter to wrangle a runaway goat in the middle of New York, these posers keep getting tetchy about his choice (choice?) of footwear.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I heard this P!anic (Panic! at the Disco) song, Don't Threaten me with a Good Time, and a line popped out at me that made me scream for Spideypool, tho the end result is mostly implied than anything else

Peter flipped himself between two sky-scrapers and landed on the asphalt, heading off a stampeding goat.

"Woah, there," Peter said to the goat, one hand held out in front of him in the universal sign for stop. Peter was pretty sure the goat understood, but instead of stopping, the creature continued towards Peter, head down, stubby horns prepared to spear Peter, or at least spear his spandex, give him a nasty scratch and a bruise to match. 

Sensing that the goat would not stop in time to avoid ruining Peter's Spidey suit, Peter jumped into the air into a forward somersault and landed on the goats back. There was an awkward moment when he was riding the goat backwards, but with a twist and the flip of his leg he found himself facing forward. 

"Yee-Haw!" Peter screeched. With one hand he grasped a stubby horn, just long enough to fit three-fourths of his hand, for balance. The other hand he threw into the air, whipping a web-lasso around his head. 

The goat bucked, trying to dislodge Peter, but Peter was stronger, had a grasp on the goat, and instead of the goat stopping his stampede and really putting his back into bucking Peter off of him, he just continued running. 

"You're a tiresome little thing, aren't you?" Peter yelled at the goat, the wind whipping the words out of his mouth. Peter leaned forward, bent around so he could look the goat in its wild eyes. "What's the matter, Billy? Eating grass and making cheese not a lucrative business anymore?"

The goat took a sharp turn, almost throwing Peter off his back as he whipped around, and began barreling down a very crowded street.

"Outta the way!" Peter yelled. "Move it or lose it!" The goat barely noticed the crowds of people scattering before him, angry New Yorkers who were the opposite of impressed with a farm animal on _their_ street. "Goat with an attitude coming through!"

"God-Damnit, Spidey!" A bottle-blond yelled after having to jump out of the goat's way.

"How is this _my_ fault?" Peter yelled back at her.

"What the ever-loving Christ are you _wearing_?" a middle-aged man wearing a stained and greasy apron shouted.

"Is this really the time?" Peter demanded. "Honestly? I'm riding a run-away, rampaging goat through New York, and you're asking about my look? Isn't the goat way more interesting?"

"No!" A teenaged girl shot back.

"Well then," Peter huffed, "now you've ruined my fun."

Peter cautiously got to his feet on the back of the stampeding goat, leaned forward so he was grasping the goat's horns in both hands, and then flipped forward, kicking his feet over the head of the goat, and incidentally flipping the goat over as well. Peter landed on his feet. The goat did not.

"Ta- _da_!" Peter shouted as the goat hit the asphalt.

"Animal killer!" Someone in the crowd shouted, making Peter realize that there _was_ a crowd around him.

"He's not dead," Peter said in the most affronted tone of voice he could muster.

"You murdered that poor innocent creature," the same voice shouted, "don't lie!"

"Ok, first of all? This goat has no innocence. He is evil. Haven't you seen The Witch? He's like Black Phillip. Second? I'm not lying." Peter was interrupted by an angry Baahhhhh-ing. "See?" Peter said, and then promptly shot a web at the goat to keep him on the ground. It wouldn't do to have him up and running away. Again.

"Spiderman!" the voice of a young girl yelled from the crowd. Peter glanced around the crowd till he found an earnest pair of eyes peaking at him from behind mousy brown bangs.

"What's up, Buttercup?"

The girl hid behind a woman’s legs, suddenly too shy to say anything. Peter guessed the woman was the girl’s mother, and after a silent conversation with the little girl, said"Why the..." before trailing off. She gestured toward Peter's feet, and Peter looked down to see the goat lying there. 

"I'm pretty sure it escaped from Hank Pym's labs. You know how those mad scientist types are." Peter shrugged. "I saw it roaming Queens unchaperoned and figured I should at least round it up even if it doesn't belong to Dr. Pym."

"That's not... what I meant," the woman said slowly.

"She means the heels!" the aproned man said.

Peter glanced down at the strappy pumps he wore on his feet, above the spandex. They were black and glossy and didn't really match the web-design of his suit.

"Oh," Peter said and stuck his foot out, toe pointed down. "Don't you like them? I think they look quite nice."

"How can you wear those?" A young man asked. "How can you possibly land on your feet or climb walls?"

"Well," Peter said, dragging the word out. "You're right. It is difficult to wear them and do stuff, but Black Widow can fight in heels, and I've seen Pepper Potts navigate taxi cabs and hostile CEOs in her crazy 6 inch stilettos, so I knew it was possible. As for why _I'm_ wearing them," Peter shrugged. "I lost a bet to a guy in a chiffon skirt." He looked down at the heels, posed to show them off better. Speculatively he said, "But I make these high heels work."

"What guy?" The little girl asked.

"Freak," the aproned guy muttered beneath his breath.

"Go Spidey!" A teenage girl shouted.

"You work those pumps," her friend agreed.

"Teach me your secrets," a boy with a pink Mohawk whined.

"How do your feet not _ache_?" asked an off-duty waitress with obvious jealousy in her eyes and one inch kitten heels on her feet.

"What guy!" The little girl screamed, this time loud enough to quiet the rest of the crowd.

"Guy?" Peter asked.

"The guy!" She reiterated. "The guy in the chiffon skirt. You lost a bet to the guy. You said so!"

"Oh," Peter said, " _that_ guy."

"What guy?" A familiar voice asked, and Peter grinned. Walking toward him, pushing through the crowd, was none other than Wade Wilson. He was dressed in his Deadpool paraphernalia, mask pulled low, katanas strapped to his back, with a clashing turquoise chiffon skirt pulled high on his waist. It was tapered above his knees in the front and hung down to his boots in the back. He had a yellow flower taped to his mask behind his ear.

Peter hooked a thumb towards Wade. "That guy," he said to the little girl. "Pro-tip, little lady, don't bet against a guy who can rock a chiffon skirt as well as he can. He cheats."

"How dare you!" Wade screeched. "Don't put this one me." He took his last step up to Peter, close enough to cuff him on the ear. Which he did. "You were worse!"

"Mister Black-and-red-Spiderman," the little girl started solemnly.

"Deadpool," Wade corrected gently, the then kneeled beside her to look her in the eye.

"Mr. Deadpool," she amended, "Why are you wearing a skirt?"

Wade shrugged. "I lost a bet to a guy in six inch heels." He swished his skirt and then posed dramatically. “I hope I look as good as I feel.”

“Oh, you do,” Peter said.

“Why thank you.” Wade clasped his hands together beneath his chin and fluttered is eyelashes.

She frowned in thought. "Are you two silly gooses?"

Peter and Wade turned to each other and then turned back to her before nodding very seriously. 

"That we are," Peter admitted.

"The silliest of gooses," Wade agreed.

"But we sure do look good." Peter grinned and then spun Wade into a dip.

"And that's what matters," Wade said as he hauled himself back to his feet. 

"What are you two Nancy boys yammering on about? You're nothing but freaks," said the man with the apron. He had a mean frown on his face and his arms were crossed menacingly over his chest.

The boy with the pink Mohawk looked at the man with disgust and then promptly flipped him the bird.

The two teenage girls booed. 

"Ignore him," the little girl's mother recommended. 

"Yeah," an older man in a suit and holding a briefcase agreed. "You've just got to ignore people like that."

"What I want to know," one of the teenage  
girls said, "is what bets the two of you lost."

"One bet," Wade corrected.

"That we both lost," Peter clarified.

"It was actually a tie," Wade said, "but neither of us won, so it counts as a loss."

"For both of us."

"So here we are, looking fab."

"But what was the bet?" the boy with the pink Mohawk asked.

"Yeah!" One of the teenage girls shouted. "You've _got_ to tell us now!"

"Please?" The little girl asked from where she stood in front of them.

Peter glanced at Wade and shrugged. Wade shrugged right back at him. 

"It's pretty stupid," Peter warned, but when no one walked away he shrugged again. "Alright, so we were hanging out at Avengers' Tower and Deadpool found this giant bag of marshmallows, so I dared him to stuff as many in his mouth as he could."

"To which I said," Wade said, "that if I had to do it he should do it too."

"So I said, 'I bet you can't fit thirty marshmallows in your mouth at once.'"

"And I said, 'I bet _you_ can't fit thirty marshmallows in _your_ mouth."

There was a pause. "So," the waitress said slowly, "neither of you were able to stuff that many marshmallows in your mouth?"

"Well..." Peter started.

"No," Wade said bluntly, “We both got thirty in our mouths.”

“How is that a loss?” the boy with the pink Mohawk asked.

“Uh,” Peter said, “Well, Natasha, you know, Black Widow, she saw what we were doing and decided she needed to out-match us in the most blasé way possible.”

“So she walked over and stuck forty-three marshmallows into her face.”

“And then smiled, and walked away,” Peter said sadly.

“But these are hers,” Wade said, pulling at his skirt.

“So this is really revenge disguised as a lost bet?” The man with the briefcase asked in a deadpan.

Peter and Wade shrugged in sync.

“Maybe,” Wade admitted, “but we _do_ look good.”

“And I learned that me and Nat wear the same shoe size,” Peter said, and then executed a highly flawed pirouette to bring home the point.

A bleating stopped Peter mid-pose, and both he and Wade looked down at the goat still stuck to the asphalt.

“What’s that?” Wade asked.

“A goat,” Peter said.

“Ooohh, can we keep it?”

“Definitely not. We’re returning it to Dr. Pym.”

“Did you steal this goat from a _doctor_ , Spidey?” Wade asked in a faux-scandalized tone.

Peter rolled his eyes. “No. It’s a runaway goat. And we’re taking it back.”

Wade sighed. “Fine!” He reached down, ripped off the webbing, and then hefted the fidgeting goat over his shoulder. Like a horned mink scarf.

“You’re just going to leave like that?” the boy with the pink Mohawk asked.

“Like what?” Peter asked.

“Like this is all a normal day for you both,” the man with the briefcase said.

“It probably is, the freaks,” the aproned man spit out.

Peter shrugged. “It kind of is. This is hardly the weirdest day I’ve had. It doesn’t even rank top fifty.”

“I’m making goat curry tonight,” Wade confided in a stage whisper that had a few people stepping back with looks of disgust on their face.

“C’mon you crazy person,” Peter said and held out his arm for Wade to hook his hand through. In deference to the crowd of people watching them, they both sashayed as they walked away, and they looked damn fine doing it.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanna say that one-shots are way easier to write than longer fics, but I'm not sure that's true. Just shorter. Not easier.
> 
> Anyhoo! I have a [tumblr](http://isadancurtisproduction.tumblr.com/) if you wanna come by and chat sometime, or if you want proof that I am actually a real person. (It's actually a trick. I'm not real at all)


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